


Breaking in the Uniforms

by stardropdream



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Related, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-09-01 03:05:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8604679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: Coming to the garrison that morning, d'Artagnan thinks Porthos and Aramis are fighting. (Coda fic for 3x03)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to tumblr for the prompt, "d'Arty arrives at the garrison to find portamis engaged in a big messy fight - he's all worried they're still having a rough time adjusting, until he realizes they're laughing when they pause for a moment. It's just breaking in the new uniforms, musketeers-style."

When d’Artagnan gets to the garrison that afternoon, after spending the morning first with Constance and then with the morning duties, it’s to the sight of Porthos picking Aramis up and throwing him – hard – into the bundles of hay smattering around the garrison. 

It’s – not a good sight; d’Artagnan knows that there’s a lot for them to work through, has noted the strains and the silences between them, but also the growing camaraderie. He’s been good with Aramis since the moment he saw him again – Athos, too. But Porthos is a different matter, entirely, and d’Artagnan can’t blame him – he’s spent the last few years knowing exactly how deeply Porthos has been missing Aramis. 

“Hey,” he starts to call out, stepping towards them – ready to break up the fight. Athos told him to let them work it out themselves – that it takes time, but they’ll be fine, it’s Porthos and Aramis and this has always been their way – but it doesn’t sit right with d’Artagnan that they should be like this, even now. And knowing Aramis, he won’t hit back nearly as much or as hard as Porthos does—

As he steps closer, ready to pull them apart, though – Aramis rolls out from beneath Porthos, squirming and planting his foot firm into Porthos’ stomach. What looks like a struggle, scuffling through the hay and the dirt, a smear of mud on Porthos’ cheek is just that – looks. 

As soon as Aramis huffs out a breath, long enough to catch his bearings, he starts to laugh. He flops back against the ground, his chest heaving. 

What startles d’Artagnan most, though, is Porthos. He’s laughing, too. It’s strange to hear the sound. It isn’t that Porthos hasn’t laughed over the last few years – of course he has – but it was never like this. Deep and rich and honeyed – unrestrained. 

More startling is Porthos’ expression – the way it melts, after a moment. The way it touches his eyes. He looks, suddenly, five years younger. Porthos has spent the last few years quiet, sullen, housing all his thoughts and worries and never bothering Athos and d’Artagnan with them. It’s been so long since he’s seen him relaxed like this. Happy. 

Then Aramis shoves himself against Porthos’ shoulder and they go rolling in the hay again. No words pass between them, just more laughter, more scuffling. Porthos pushes Aramis’ face down into the dirt and he squirms away from him, all feet and flailing hands. Their uniforms – hours before pristine and brand new – are already scuffed and dirty. 

They haven’t heard d’Artagnan. He takes a step back, not wanting to interrupt. 

The two go rolling around on the ground, throwing haphazard kicks and punches, but mostly just laughter. Their laughter lilts up – easy and free. Something inside of d’Artagnan’s chest loosens – relief, reassurance. They’ll be okay. 

When the two pause again, both unaware of the world around them, Aramis huffs a laugh and touches at Porthos’ cheek – wiping away the mud. His fingers touch at his hair and curl for a moment – too intimate to be fighting, his expression soft. 

Porthos looks back at him – for the first time in years completely at peace.


End file.
